Doing Nothing
The sun has gone
underground, but
the authorities
will find it.
To Be Here
Yellow leaf
thinly slow-flies
shallow serpentine
creek beneath
tree canopy
and frog call
of water running
over a gourd’s mouth.
Bring the Wind
Driving spikes
to split boulders
the sparks
fly pink
in the winter
blue light.
Stoplight Rain
Propane tanks
tossed in the yard,
neighbor went inside
dressed and came
out naked, the whole
horse of him
with nowhere
to put his wallet.
What do you need,
love, what kind
of enough
would be enough?
Long Minutes
Shad swim
the forest,
fold into
manta rays
maneuvering paper
birches and
elms; something
like eternity
embedded in
a moment
of time.
Adam Day is the author of Left-Handed Wolf (LSU Press, 2020), and of Model of a City in Civil War (Sarabande Books), and the recipient of a Poetry Society of America Chapbook Fellowship for Badger, Apocrypha, and of a PEN America Literary Award. He is the publisher of the cultural magazine, Action, Spectacle.